great West I saw stretched out and coiled up the great reptile which, after crushing the free locomotive of passengers and trade, would have twisted itself around our republican institutions, and left them in strangulation and blood along the pathway of nations.  The governors of States and the President of the United States did well in planting the loaded cannon at the head of streets blocked up by desperadoes.  I felt the inspiration of giving warning, and I did.

But the summer came, August came, and after a lecture tour through the far West I was amazed and delighted to find there a tremendous harvest in the grain fields.  I had seen immense crops there about to start on their way to the Eastern sea-boundary of our continent.  I saw then that our prosperity as a nation would depend upon our agriculture.  It didn’t make any difference what the Greenback party, or the Republican and Democratic parties, or the Communists were croaking about; the immense harvests of the West indicated that nothing was the matter.  What we needed in the fall of 1878 was some cheerful talk.

During this summer two of the world’s celebrities died:  Charles Mathews, the famous comedian, and the great American poet, William Cullen Bryant.  Charles Mathews was an illustrious actor.  He was born to make the world laugh, but he had a sad life of struggle.

While Charles Mathews was performing in London before immense audiences, one day a worn-out and gloomy man came into a doctor’s shop, saying, “Doctor, what can you do for me?” The doctor examined his case and said, “My advice is that you go and see Charles Mathews.”  “Alas!  Alas!” said the man, “I myself am Charles Mathews.”

In the loss of William Cullen Bryant I felt it as a personal bereavement of a close friend.  Nowhere have I seen the following incident of his life recorded, an incident which I still remember as one of the great events in my life.

In the days of my boyhood I attended a meeting at Tripler Hall, held as a memorial of Fenimore Cooper, who at that time had just died.  Washington Irving stepped out on the speaker’s platform first, trembling, and in evident misery.  After stammering and blushing and bowing, he completely broke down in his effort to make a speech, and briefly introduced the presiding officer of the meeting, Daniel Webster.  Rising like a huge mountain from a plain this great orator introduced another orator—­the orator of the day—­William Cullen Bryant.  In that memorable oration, lasting an hour and a half, the speaker told lovingly the story of the life and death of the author of “Leather Stocking” and “The Last of the Mohicans.”